She'd always been told that she was "smart". And as a kid, she'd believed anyone who told her that – after all, while the rest of her second grade class struggled through double digit subtraction, she was learning her multiplication tables. While her fifth grade class learned about the Sun, she was devouring reading material on the impact of Neptune on Uranus' orbit. While her eighth grade class did linear equations, she bought as many books on trigonometry as she could and self-taught herself that. And when she finally headed off to Yale at 16 years old, she was determined to excel – and she did, barely stopping to party, drink, or make random escapades. And so when Diana Bellediere was accepted as an intern into the Jeffersonian Institute, headed by none other than Dr. Temperance Brennan, well, she was expecting to do just fine.
But these people were a completely different story.
She was pretty sure that no one in that lab had an IQ below 140 – genius level – which made her feel a tad out of her league. It was just that with Hodgins next to her reciting the alloys of various elements and how it affected bonding ability, and Brennan glancing down at a skull and immediately spewing facts, and Angela working computers like they were her pets – well, being able to do trigonometry in the eighth grade hardly seemed like that much of an achievement anymore. And Zack – all he ever seemed to be doing was staring through a microscope, raising his head long enough only to call out a series of numbers that didn't seem to make sense to anyone but Hodgins. The more she was at the Jeffersonian, the more she felt like she'd infiltrated some top secret society of geniuses. Which, if she asked Hodgins, would probably end up being true.
In fact, the only person who seemed to have an ounce of normalcy in them was Booth – but then again, he walked around the lab in a flaming orange tie and pink socks, so she wasn't sure that was a good call either.
And the cases? Depressing. Working at a crime lab was interesting, alright – and quite mortifying at other times. The latest case was on a 19 year old whose skull had been bashed in – but only after both of his shins were fractured.
Cheery.
"Diana," Brennan called, snapping her out of her reverie. "I need you to help Zack figure out what the cause of death and murder weapon was."
She raised an eyebrow. Usually, Brennan insisted on doing all of the classifying – all of everything, in fact – herself. Her disbelief seemed to be validated, as Booth strolled around the corner, looking all too happy to be investigating a murder.
"Alright, Bones," he said. "Let's go question some teenagers." He looked far, far too excited with the prospect.
Brennan took off her gloves and walked out of the lab area. "Let me know if you guys find anything important!" she called, only to have both shoulders taken by Booth and steered out the door.
Diana rolled her eyes. She'd been working there for three days, and was already accustomed to the incessant bickering of Booth and Brennan – incessant, and yet somehow charming. Angela called it frisson; and Diana called it oodles of sexual tension. Either way, it was there.
She walked to the area where Zack was standing. He was staring at the skeleton with his brows furrowed, as if crinkling his face and staring with enough intensity would make the answer somehow pop out of the bones. Diana wouldn't have been surprised if the answer had – Zack had the intelligence and dedication of – of – of, well, Zack.
"Hi," she said, trying to get his attention.
He glanced up briefly, and then resumed staring at the skeleton. "Hello."
She bit her lip. "Need any help?"
He looked up again and sighed, as if being offered help was a terrible insult to his mental ability. She wondered whether she should've just asked Hodgins to help Zack instead.
"I suppose," he said, "It couldn't hurt. If you could examine the right side of the body – starting with the ilium, as I've already examined everything further down, I'm sure it could double the efficiency. Although…" he said. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her. "Your efficiency has yet to be proven."
She tried to figure out whether to be insulted or not. "I – you – well, we'll find out, won't we?" she said, smiling brightly.
He stared at her a second longer before reverting to the skeleton. Diana grabbed a pair of gloves, and followed suit, staring at the skeleton. "Both the parietal and the temporal parts of the right side of the skull have been hit, and the curved impact suggests by something blunt, like a club. Although it would have to be a very small club…" she said.
Zack walked over to her side of the skeleton, picking up the skull and turning it over. "Staining on the inside of the skull suggests that the hit caused head trauma – internal bleeding. The blood would have pooled inside the victim's skull, trapped inside the bone. That would be cause of death."
She smiled. How's that for efficiency?
As if reading her mind, Zack turned to look at her – and for a second, she could have sworn that he almost smiled. "80 percent," he said.
Eighty percent? Was she only 4/5 right about the damage? "What?"
"You're about eighty percent my maximum efficiency. Which is quite satisfactory," he said – as if what he was saying couldn't be interpreted the least bit insultingly. "I'll go tell Hodgins to look for particulates on the skull that could help identify the murder weapon."
He walked off with the skull, leaving Diana with an unharmed skeleton and two broken shins. Fantastic, she thought. If I get bored, I'll just talk to our headless friend over here. He's great company.
***
"Oh my God," Booth said, as he pulled into the parking lot. "The victim – Joseph Mohston – went to Clark High School."
"And?" Brennan said. They both got out of the car and walked towards the school. "Clark High School is the largest public school in the D.C. area. It's quite probable that a random person on the streets of D.C. would attend."
"Exactly," Booth said. "Meaning that the victim probably had a small circle of friends – big public school means that you can blend in easily. If someone goes missing, hardly anyone notices – their friends assume it's something small, like sickness, the teachers are too overworked to even notice."
"So what you're saying…is that we have to find the victim's 'social circle'."
Booth walked into the school and straight to the principal's office. The principal was a balding man – late 60s, Brennan estimated – who looked exhausted. He was on the phone, mumbling about budget cuts and the art department.
"Exactly," Booth said, tapping impatiently on the counter. The principal looked up, annoyed, and continued talking.
"Well how are we supposed to do that?"
He smiled. "A mass gathering of teenagers, packed into one room. Lunch. Hello?" he said to the principal, who continued ignoring them. Booth pulled out his badge. "FBI, here, so I suggest you get off the phone and start talking to my partner and me here."
The principal finally hung up the phone. He stood up. "I'm Pete Haldings. What can I do for you?"
"I need all the records for a student who goes here – his name is Joseph Mohston. And also, his lunch period."
"Why?" Haldings asked. He typed something into his computer, and the printer on his desk whizzed to life. "Did he get into trouble?"
Brennan cringed, knowing what was coming.
"You could say that," Booth said. "He's dead. Murdered, actually."
Haldings paled. "Oh my – oh my God." He handed them a packet of papers. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Yeah – give us his lunch period."
Haldings nodded vigorously. "Of course, of – Joseph Mohston. Second lunch. 11:50 to 12:15. I – I can't believe this. If you'll excuse me," he said, shaking his head, and left the office.
"Alright," Booth said. "We got what we need. We just have to be back here in one hour, and we'll find out exactly who our victim here was."
"You know, society would be a lot better if schools were smaller and better organized. It's a wonder how anyone who goes to this school learns – the hallways are congested, the bathrooms are disgusting, the teachers are probably unqualified-"
Booth cut her off. "Bones, I went to a school like this, and I turned out fine, didn't I?"
"Yes, well you are one person. For every person like you there are probably ten who go on to become criminals, or homeless, or live a difficult life." Right on cue, a group of older boys ran by the office, slamming another one into the window. The boy, unperturbed, got right back up and continued running down the hall.
"And how," Brennan continued, "Is a single principal supposed to keep this many students safe? It's prepos--"
"Okay, Bones," Booth said, steering her out of the office. "Let's go get lunch, and then we'll come back and complain to the principal about health hazards, alright?"
"Really?" Bones said.
"I – no! Alright, Bones, listen – people go here because they like it here, or because they have no other options. Either way, you aren't going to persuade many people to leave. It's life. It's how things are. Not everyone was as fortunate as you."
Brennan sighed and climbed into the car. "I really should go back to the lab. Who knows how Dr. Bellediere and Zack are doing, for all I know--"
"—For all you know, they could've identified the murder weapon, cause of death, and already caught the murderer. So let's get lunch."
***
"It's sickening," Hodgins deadpanned. "Were Angela and I ever that obnoxious?"
Sweets shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's always worse to watch people publicly display affection when you're – perhaps – feeling a little jealous?"
Hodgins scoffed. "Jealous? No. They can keep each other."
"I didn't say you were jealous of either one of them, Dr. Hodgins. I think you're jealous of what they have – you want someone with whom you can act that way towards as well. When humans feel lonely, it's natural to automatically see every couple out there and wish to take their place."
"I'm pathetic. I'm a good looking guy. I'm good in bed. And I'm sitting here talking to a ten year old psychologist about by nonexistent love life."
"I'm twenty-four," Sweets retorted. "You're aggression is perfectly understandable. It's normal to lash out at other people who are in a rela--"
Hodgins got up off the couch. "This is ridiculous. I have particulates to identify."
"Dr. Hodgins, you can't just bury your feelings under your work. It's unhealthy. Eventually, you're going to have to let your emotions out."
"Sounds good. I'll let you know when I feel like doing that."
Hodgins walked out of Sweets' office.
Sweets sighed. I wonder when people are going to start actually scheduling appointments instead of just barging in here…
***
It was, of course, just his luck to walk out of Sweets' office…and run right into Angela and Wendell. Holding hands. Dragging each other out of the building, inevitably off to spend their lunch break doing something equally cliché and romantic.
He walked onto the platform, too upset to notice that Diana was standing there, poring over a bone. He grabbed the nearest slide, but his eyes continued to follow Angela and Wendell as they stopped right in front of the exit. Wendell leaned towards her and she leaned back – and he swore, he was going to puke, right there – and then the two of them were –
Interrupted by Cam. She glared at the two of them and rolled her eyes. "People. Security cameras." She looked pointedly at Angela, and then back at Wendell. "Enough of the workplace wooing!"
Hodgins couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of victory. Exactly. Enough of the workplace wooing, already!
He turned around to place the slide under the microscope, and looked at his hands. Apparently, he really had been aggravated, because the slide was now in two pieces. He sighed, and placed it aside.
"Let me guess: relationship gone bad?"
Hodgins spun around. Diana was standing there, looking sympathetic. He wondered whether or not he should've killed himself from embarrassment, or dump Diana in a body bag for being intuitive. "I – what?"
"You were staring at them in fury, and then broke a lens. It was pretty impressive," she said, smiling a bit.
He narrowed his eyes. "That really isn't any of your business, Diana. I've already got Sweets to tell me things I don't want to know; I think you've got better things to be doing than analyzing my interpersonal relationships. Like catching a murderer."
Her eyebrows shot up, but she turned back to her work. Hodgins could've sworn he heard something along the lines of: "Alright, relationship gone really bad…"
He closed his eyes. "Diana?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry for yelling at you."
She smiled at him wryly. "I'm sorry for butting in. Psychologist tendencies kicking in."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. You're a psychologist too?!"
"Minoring in it. Why? You're not in denial of having feelings too, are you?" she teased.
He sighed. "Don't tell Brennan."
"Oh, she already knows. I think she's trying to ignore that part of me, though. I'm pretty sure she can't figure out how someone could be in anthropology and psychology." She sighed. "I'm pretty sure everyone's just in a yelling-at-people mood today."
"Why? Did Booth snap at you? Don't worry about it – he's just--"
"It wasn't Booth. It was Zack."
For a minute, he felt the strangest desire to laugh – no doubt brought about by the incessant Angela and Wendell thoughts. "Zack? Yelled at you? What'd you do, tell him to stop using big words?"
She cringed. "Well he didn't really yell. He just…I don't know. I mean, it wasn't even – like – that big a deal."
Hodgins grinned. "What'd he say?"
She glared at him. "He told me I was inefficient."
"Somehow I can't see Zack saying that."
"Well, he said I was only 80% as efficient as he was. Which was a little insulting, especially since I had just identified the cause of death."
Hodgins smiled sympathetically at her. "Don't worry about it. No offense – and I mean this in a really nice way – but Zack's probably right. The kid's inhuman. You get used to it, after a while – he's blunt, insensitive, has no idea how to act around people…he really wasn't trying to insult you."
She sighed. "I know. I'm just…I'm just used to, you know, being …" She screwed up her face, trying to come up with a way to phrase it that didn't make her seem like arrogant.
"Smart," Hodgins finished for her. "We all are. But hey – the fact that you're here at all is something. I mean, come on, who wouldn't want to spend all day in a lab filled with murder, hatred, and death?"
She smiled. "Welcome to the Jeffersonian."
***
A/N: Whew! That was a pretty long chapter. Anyways, I think I may have made Diana a little unlikeable in this chapter, but let me know what you guys think. Review!